A Rich Man's War
by itsaravenclawthing
Summary: Klaine civil war au. I'm not really the best at summaries, so read on!
1. Chapter 1

"I promise I'll be back before you even know it, Quinnie." Blaine whispered, brushing one of Quinn's blonde curls behind her ear. She readjusted her parasol and tugged at the fingers on her gloves. "Blaine, men are dying out there!" She said back, her voice thick with tears.

"I know, but I won't be one of them. I'll be home real soon and you and me, we'll get married and live in Charleston and have lots of babies."

The train whistle blew behind him. "That's you." Quinn whispered. Blaine pulled her into a final hug before running to the train. When he found a compartment, he stood on the low seat and opened the window. "I promise I'll come home to you, Quinn Fabray! I don't care what it takes! You'll see me again soon!"

The train slowly began to move and Quinn ran alongside it, pulling her long skirt above her ankles. "I love you, Blaine Anderson!" she shouted.

Blaine waved to her until she disappeared completely from his view. He was about to sit back down when he heard a knock on the compartment door. A tall young man with a boyish face stood outside the glass. He looked to be about Blaine's age, give or take a year or two.

"Finn Hudson. Pleased to meet you." The man said as Blaine opened the compartment door. Blaine noticed that he didn't have a Southern accent. He sounded like one of those damn Yankees, actually. "Blaine Anderson. Pleased to meet you as well, Finn Hudson."

Finn sat down across from him and dropped his pack heavily on the ground. "I'm from Georgia. Originally from Connecticut until my wife and I moved. You?"

This boy sure is friendly, Blaine thought. "Charleston, born and raised."

Finn nodded. "It must sound funny to you, a Yank signing up for the Confederate Army. But my wife, Rachel, she's from Georgia and her daddy is a real smart guy, owns a big old plantation down there, and he's been poking at me to join the Confederacy for years. I finally gave in. Besides, I'd rather fight for the beautiful South than the North any time."

Blaine nodded. "I've always known that if it came to war, I'd be fighting for the Confederacy. My daddy's been talkin' about a war brewing for a long time now."

"Well, here we are, I suppose." Finn said.

A few moments of silence passed. "You know, my step-brother enrolled in the Union army." Finn said. "I just hope to God I don't have to hurt him."

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel stood on the platform of the train station, thinking.<p>

He might never be in Manhattan again. "Kurt, dear." Brittany said, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Yes?" He turned around just as Brittany presented him with a box. It had his name, Kurt E. Hummel, engraved in gold leaf. When he opened it, personalized stationary with the same leafing sat in a neat pile, along with a pen, envelopes and stamps.

"This is so you can write me, all the time. When you're about to run out, tell me and I'll send you more."

"Oh, Brittany, you know I don't like gifts." He said, slowly tucking the elegant wooden box into his pack.

"But you know I love you and I want you to be able to hear my voice every night. Even if I can't talk to you truly, you'll have my letters and you can remember me." Kurt heard the hitch in his fiancée's voice and pulled her close. "I'll be home before you can mail the first letter, Brittany Susan Pierce. And when I get back, I'll make you Brittany Susan Hummel."

Brittany turned away from Kurt and he knew she was crying. "I just don't want any telegrams, Kurt." She sniffed.

"You won't get a single one. I swear on it."

Brittany smiled weakly then. "Well, you'd better be off. You'll miss your train."

Kurt nodded and kissed Brittany lightly. He wasn't one for any public displays of affection, or any affection, actually.

He marched to the train, his back turned, shoulders squared, because he knew if he turned around just once, he would never be able to leave.

Strangely, thought, it wasn't Brittany he was sad to leave. He couldn't bear to turn back and see his beloved Manhattan behind him, calling him back.

He didn't love Brittany, he had known that for a long time now. He was fond of her, yes, and she was special to him, of course. But whenever he tried to picture a life with her, of children, he couldn't picture anything but blurred lines. Every once in a while, there was a blond child with no face because he couldn't picture one, maybe a swim in the lake in Brittany's home town of Pothat, but nothing else. When he had courted Brittany, it had been because he had felt a duty, and when he had proposed, it had been for the same reason.

He wasn't sure he loved women at all, really. They were fickle and cranky and pretty, yes, but as a boy, he had never seen himself with a wife or children. He had seen himself a journalist or a teacher and growing old alone, because no, he didn't love women at all.

He hated to admit that to himself, and would never admit it to anyone else. _Men,_ however…

No. He couldn't admit _that _bit to himself. Not yet and probably not ever. That wasn't acceptable in the slightest and he was going to marry Brittany and do what he had to.

* * *

><p>It was very dark outside. Kurt didn't know what time it was, but he knew that it was very dark and there was no moon tonight. He looked at the boy sitting across from him, his blond hair covering his eyes, his lips parted slightly. Sam Evans, his name was. He was seventeen, too young to have enrolled, but he'd run away from his parents and lied about his age.<p>

He was so young, so fragile in sleep. Kurt felt he needed to protect this boy, but he didn't feel anything else. Not like the other boy from the newspaper…

No. Kurt wasn't thinking about those things and boys and men anymore.

He sighed and looked out at the night. In the miniscule light, he saw things passing, fields and sky and grass. He didn't know where this train was taking him, but it was very far away from Manhattan.

Manhattan…

He turned his face away from the dark window as Sam stirred. "You know where this train is going?" Sam groaned while sitting up.

"Don't know." Kurt replied. "But it seems to be stopping."

Sure enough, the train was rolling to a slow stop. The doors were opened and every one of the men in the car stepped off. A man stood before them, short, but broad shouldered and he appeared to be strong. "I," he began, pacing slowly back and forth, "am William Schuester. I will be your platoon leader. You will address me as Lieutenant Schuester, Lieutenant Schue if that's too difficult for you to remember."

"Sir, yes, sir!" the chorus of soldiers replied.

"We stand here in the state of Alabama. Tonight, we are setting up camp and you will get your first taste of war."

This man, Lieutenant Schue, was dramatic, very dramatic. Kurt liked him. He was dramatic, too.

"Travel light. That's what I'll leave you with tonight."

Lieutenant Schue began walking forward and the soldiers followed, and the soldiers followed him, simply because they didn't know what else to do.

* * *

><p>"Hey!" A voice shook Blaine out of his dream. "Train's stopped. Come on."<p>

The source of the voice was another man, blue-eyed and dark-haired.

"Noah Puckerman, Franklin, Tenesee." He held out his hand to Blaine and Finn, who both shook it.

"Blaine Anderson, Charleston, South Carolina."

"Finn Hudson, Atlanta, Georgia."

Noah laughed. "You ain't from Georgia!" He exclaimed. "You're a Yank!"

"No, no! I'm no Yankee!" Finn said, exasperated and turning bright red. "I was born and raised in Hartford, sure, but my wife's a regular old Georgia peach, and I'm sure as hell more fond of the Confederacy than I am of Connecticut!"

Noah stopped laughing. "Well, I guess you wouldn't have enrolled if you wasn't a real Southern boy. Nice to meet you, Finn Hudson."

"Likewise, Noah."

Noah shook his head. "Nope, call me Puck. I hate Noah. Makes me sound like a damn fool."

"Puck, then." Blaine said as they stepped off the train.

"Just right, Charleston." Puck grinned and caught up with someone he clearly knew further in front of them.

"What were you dreaming about?" Finn asked. "You know, when Puck woke us up? What were you dreaming about?"

"Uh…" Blaine hesitated. Should he tell him? No, no. He couldn't.

"Me, I was dreaming about Rachel. My wife. She's so pretty and nice and sings better than a bird. You got a girl back home, Blaine?"

"Yep." Blaine nodded. "Her name's Quinn. We're getting married as soon as I get home. I was having a dream about her."

He let out a sigh of relief. It helped to talk about Quinn. Even if he was lying about the dream.

He loved Quinn, he knew that. She was beautiful and smart and would make a good wife for him, the perfect woman to marry into the Andersons of Charleston.

But the affection he felt for her wasn't the sort of affection a husband should feel for a wife. She was more like…a sister.

"Here."

Blaine jolted. Finn was holding something out to him, a picture. "That's Rachel."

The girl in the picture grinned up at him, her teeth very white. She had brown hair and brown eyes. She was very small, barely reaching the height of Finn's chest. They seemed to be standing under a peach tree, like a true Georgia stereotype.

"She's pretty." Blaine replied, handing back the picture. "Want to see one of Quinn?"

"Sure." Finn said,

Blaine reached back into his pack and pulled out the only picture he had taken with him of Quinn. They were standing on the porch of his home in Charleston together, looking at the fields of the plantation in front of them.

"Well, isn't she a looker?" Finn whispered, handing the picture back to Blaine.

"I know." Blaine said, tucking the photograph back into his pack, being careful not to disturb the other picture, the one that he could never show anyone ever.

His heart ached thinking of the boy in the picture, how he had stood over Blaine so tall, how his eyes had squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the window…

When it had happened, Blaine had just told Quinn's family that he was leaving for the war. He had been in the hall upstairs, looking out the big bay window, thinking, when he'd heard footsteps behind him. He had turned around, thinking it was Quinn. It hadn't been Quinn, but her younger brother Sebastian.

"Blaine." He had said, holding out a firm hand. "Sebastian." Blaine had replied. His heart had been beating so fast.

"I wanted to wish you luck." Sebastian had said.

"Thank you."

Sebastian had nodded then. But he didn't let go of Blaine's hand. "I don't want you to leave, Blaine." He had whispered, checking over his shoulder to make sure his mother or sister weren't down the hall.

"Sebastian, what are you trying to say?" Blaine remembered how he'd tried to rip his hand out of Sebastian's grip but how the boy had only grasped his hand tighter.

"What I'm trying to say Blaine, is that I feel something for you I shouldn't."

Blaine had gasped. "Sebastian, I don't know what you're talking about but-" and then before he could finish his sentence, Sebastian's lips had been on his and they were warm and soft.

All too soon, Sebastian had broken away and they'd heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "I wish you the best of luck fighting for the Confederacy, Blaine." He had said too loudly as Quinn had appeared at the top of the staircase and linked arms with Blaine. "Thank you very much, Sebastian. It's appreciated."

"You do your best to make sure you come home to my sister, you hear me?"

"I'll come home alright." Blaine had said.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It was a sunny Tuesday morning and Sebastian was sitting at the table in the big, empty formal dining room. It was already very hot out, he could tell because the men and women working outside were stopping often to wipe their brows.

He was thinking about Blaine.

Was he fighting out there? Was he being shot at? Were people in his battalion dying already? Would he come home safe and sound to Quinn? More importantly, would he come home to Sebastian?

It had been two years ago when he'd first met Blaine and he'd long since stopped trying to deny that he felt for Blaine what he should feel for a woman.

"Good morning."

Sebastian turned around to see his sister standing in the doorway, a teapot in her hands. She strode gracefully over to the table and sat down across from him.

"Morning, Quinn. Sleep alright?"

Quinn sighed and stared out the window. "No. I was thinking about Blaine all night, how he's out there without a pillow or a blanket. Must be cold."

"Blaine's a strong boy." Sebastian replied, trying to keep the worry from seeping into his own voice. "I'm sure he'll do just fine."

A few moments of silence passed between the siblings with nothing but the sound of their cook Abigail's singing in the kitchen.

"You'd best find yourself a nice girl to settle down with, Sebastian." Quinn said after a while. "I see the girls in town eyeing you. You know that girl, the preacher's daughter, Sugar, seems to be quite taken with you."

"I'm sixteen, Quinn. I don't need a girl just yet."

Quinn eyed her brother. "I was talking about finding a girl before people realize what's wrong with you."

Sebastian jumped. "Ain't nothing wrong with me, Quinn. Don't have a clue what it is you're talking about." He tried to pour himself a cup of tea, but his hands were shaking.

Quinn leaned across the table, her eyes burning. "I'm talking about the way you look at Blaine."

The teapot rattled in his hands, so he picked up the cup and took a drink. "I don't look at Blaine with anything other than respect and envy for being brave enough to fight for the Confederacy."

Quinn yanked the teapot away from Sebastian's side of the table and began to pour herself a cup. Sebastian noticed that her hands weren't shaking at all. "You are full of _shit._" She said, beginning to spoon in sugar. "Blaine is _mine_, Sebastian. What you're doing is deplorable and don't you dare think that I can't have this whole damn city talking about your…_affliction _with a snap of my fingers."

"I DON'T HAVE AN AFFLICTION!" Sebastian shouted, squeezing the teacup so hard that it shattered in his hands.

"Shut your _mouth!_" Quinn whispered harshly as Abigail hurried in with a washcloth. "Oh, dear mister Sebastian." She said, picking up the shards of china from the floor. "This was your mama's very good china, mister Sebastian. She ain't gonna like this, not one bit."

"Abigail, I'll talk to mama and clean up the tea. You just go back to cooking, mama's got a society luncheon today and she's depending on you." Quinn said.

"Thank you, miss Quinn."

Quinn checked around the kitchen door to make sure Abigail was gone. "Blaine. Is. _Mine." _She hissed. "And I'll be damned if I let you have anything to do with him. Do you hear me, Sebastian?"

Sebastian paused, squeezing his injured hand, watching the blood run down his arm.

"I _said,_ do you hear me?"

"I hear you Quinn. But that don't mean I'm listening."

"Morning, men!" A voice boomed over where the platoon was camped. Blaine sat up and rubbed his eyes. The voice belonged to Cooter Menkins, their lieutenant. He was kind-faced and strong, but inexperienced and it worried Blaine.

"Rumor has it there's some Yankee troops camped out over yonder."

"Let's get 'em!" Puck yelped from somewhere near Blaine. The platoon laughed. "Calm down, soldier. Don't you think we ought to prepare first?" Cooter said, strolling through the spaces between the soldiers. Finn was looking wistfully at his photograph of Rachel.

"Naw, we got them Yanks cornered!" Puck shouted back.

"Men, this ain't going to be easy, not one little bit. Some of you might die before the week is up. But-"

It was the loudest sound Blaine had ever heard in his life. It sounded like a thousand rocks hitting a hard floor all at once.

It was a cannon.

"Take cover!" Cooter shouted and the platoon headed for the woods.

They waited for an hour for the Yankees with their big guns and big cannons to show up, but nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

"Hey, Charleston!" Puck whispered. Blaine turned around. "Them Yanks got us scared up the patoot and they ain't even anywhere near us."

"Yankees have a way of being scarier than they really are." Finn whispered back.

"I think we're safe!" Cooter whispered, leading the troops out back into the open.

The soldiers slowly moved back out. "We gotta get moving over that hill before tonight. So, men, pack up and head on out!"

The men moved out from behind the trees slowly, so slowly, making sure not to snap a twig.

And then it happened again.

The loudest sound Blaine had ever heard, so horribly loud that Blaine was sure his ears were bleeding.

This time, the cannon was right behind him. And there was more than one.

"RUN!" Cooter shouted. The soldiers had needed the signal, for they were already heading for the trees. Puck was loading his gun and Blaine, not wanting to be left out, began to load his ammunition into the barrel. _Why wasn't this thing already loaded? _He thought, cursing himself.

"Charleston!"

Blaine turned around to Puck signaling him. "Cover me, I'll cover you!"

Kurt was shooting blindly. He didn't know what he was hitting, he just hoped it wasn't Sam or any of the other men. He couldn't even see any of the enemy soldiers, but he could hear them.

Everything seemed to be falling around him, birds were fleeing the trees, he could hear men in his platoon hitting the ground, their bodies making thuds against the blanket of pine needles and leaves.

"Hummel,GO!" Someone was pushing him and he didn't know who it was, but he blindly stumbled forward, farther into the woods. He didn't know what was waiting for him back there, where it was dark and barely any sun shone through the thick canopy of leaves. But he ran, ran so fast and so far until he couldn't hear anymore shooting and then _THUMP._

He had a mouthful of dirt. He was on the ground and he could feel the blood trickling from what seemed like his knee into his boots and his ankle was throbbing. _God,_ that hurt. He felt down around that area and almost gagged. Something was most definitely broken. He hated blood and breaks and bones and everything of the sort.

It dawned on him, then.

He was probably going to die out here. He probably couldn't walk, was probably going to get some kind of infection from whatever cut he had-that was the first thing they'd taught him in training, that infection would kill him if a gunshot wound didn't-and he hadn't been given nearly enough rations or water. So he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Anderson! Hudson!" Cooter was shouting at them. Blaine turned his head sharply away from Puck and looked in the direction of his platoon leader's voice. "Head out deeper! Go!"

Blaine followed Cooter's orders after getting one of the other men to cover Puck and ran into the trees with Finn.

"What's he want us to do out there?" Finn shouted over the din of bullets.

"I think he thinks the Yankee's camp might be out there!" Blaine replied, leaping over bodies as he went. He tried not to think about the fact that _yes, _these were people, actual people who had died moments ago.

"And what's he want us to do about that?" Finn said as they passed the last line of their men.

" I think he wants us to destroy their supplies or something." Blaine was relieved that he could speak quietly now that they were beyond the roar of the gunshots.

"Well, I sure hope we aren't back here for nothing." Finn said. Blaine laughed lightly, hoping the same thing.

That was when they'd heard it. There was a thump and a sharp _oof_, a human sound, from somewhere beyond them. "What do you think-"

Blaine held up a finger to shush Finn. "Quiet!"

He crept forward. "Hello?" He shouted into the trees. Nothing in response. "We are soldiers of the Confederacy and we are armed!"

"Don't shoot!" A feeble voice replied. "Please!"

"That sounds like-"

"Finn!" Blaine hissed sharply. "Don't you know when to be quiet?"

"But Blaine, I think-"

"Whoever you are, come out! Now!" Blaine shouted, cocking his gun and pointing the mouth toward where he thought the voice was coming from, somewhere to the east.

"I can't walk!" The voice replied.

"Get out here!"

Blaine heard a dragging sound from the direction his gun was pointed and a man crawled out from behind a wide-trunked maple.

He was arrested by the man. He was…_beautiful_, to put it as simply as possible. Brown hair, the color of chocolate. Perfect, smooth white skin. Eyes bluer than any eyes Blaine had ever seen.

"Blaine, don't shoot!" Finn shouted, running toward the man.

"Finn!" The man shouted. Finn crouched on the ground next to him. "Kurt, what happened to you? Were you shot?"

The man, Kurt, shook his head. "No, I was ordered out and I fell. I think I broke my God damn ankle."

Blaine moved forward cautiously toward Finn and Kurt. "Blaine, don't shoot!" Finn whispered. "This is my brother, Kurt."

Blaine nodded, still thinking. _Kurt. _This beautiful man had a name, and his name was beautiful, too. "I don't feel like it's quite appropriate to introduce myself." Kurt said, his eyes staring so deep into Blaine's. "It's alright." He replied, surprised at the sound of his own voice. Suddenly, the photograph of Sebastian felt like it was burning in his pack.

"Blaine," Finn said, "I can't leave him here. He's my brother."

"No, Finn, you have to go back." Kurt whispered, trying to stand up and collapsing.

"Kurt, you're in a bad way. I really think-"

"I'll stay!" Blaine volunteered before he could stop himself. "Finn, go back and fight. Tell the men I found the camp, but tell them not to send help because I've got it covered." _What the hell is wrong with me? _"I'll patch him up and head back. I swear."

Finn looked around nervously. "Alright. Fine. Be careful."

Finn put a hand on Kurt's shoulder, another on Blaine's before running off.

"Can you show me where you're camped out?" Blaine said when he was sure Finn had left.

"We're over that way." Kurt pointed his chin to the south. "But you'll have to help me. I can't walk on this." He gestured to his ankle and Blaine nodded.

Kurt cooperatively wrapped an arm around this man's shoulder as he hoisted himself up.

He made the mistake of putting pressure on his bad ankle and cried out. "Don't worry, I've got you." Blaine said in his slow, Southern twang, so much more natural than the one Finn had adopted since marrying Rachel.

"You swear you won't shoot me?" He asked, suddenly panicking as Blaine began to walk through the woods.

He laughed, an easy laugh that sounded like he'd been doing nothing but laughing all his life.

"Promise. You're Finn's brother, and he's a big guy with a big gun."

Kurt laughed, too. _Blaine. _A rich boy's name, he thought. He had probably grown up on a big plantation full of slaves and nannies and cooks with fine clothes and toys and space to play. He was probably set to marry a beautiful girl back home, if he made it back, and they would live on his plantation and have some beautiful children together and live happily ever after.

He sighed and turned his head slightly. _Blaine. _His lips were very full.He had the longest eyelashes. They cast shadows on his cheeks. And his eyes themselves…they were the loveliest shade of brown that Kurt had ever seen. Warm, like hot cocoa, and soft, and they looked like the sort of eyes you could look into and see everything you wanted to in them.

"This it?"

Kurt jerked his head up. They were back at the base. "Yep. There are bandages in that tent right there. Some iodine, too."

Blaine nodded and crawled into the tent, rustled a few things around, and emerged with the bottle of iodine and roll of bandages. "Tell me if it hurts, alright?"

Kurt nodded as Blaine rolled up the leg of his pants, treated the his cut-which wasn't as deep as he'd initially thought-and wrapped a bandage around it.

"You're a quiet patient." Blaine grinned up at him and Kurt felt his heart stop. _Oh, no. Please, no._ Blaine was a man, and Kurt was a man, engaged to a woman in Manhattan. And Blaine was so, _so,_ beautiful. His smile was easy and kind, and his eyes sparkled and everything about his face was perfect. And he was another man.

"I can handle it myself from here." Kurt said, his voice cracking.

"You've got a broken ankle, Kurt." His name on Blaine's lips…God, he could get used to hearing that the rest of his life. "I can't leave you here."

"I'll be alright. My platoon will be back soon and-"

"BLAINE! KURT!"

Kurt whipped around at the same moment Finn broke through the brush. "Kurt, your men are on their way back! Blaine, we just retreated! I told 'em you were out here and they said to come get you!"

"Finn I'm not done-"

"Blaine, if they find out you're helping an enemy soldier, you are dead. Kurt, your men'll fix you up something good won't they?"

Kurt nodded. He didn't want Blaine to leave yet.

"Finn!" Blaine shouted. The men were coming closer, he could hear them. "Tell them…tell them I'm dead!"


End file.
